


Aroes Drabbles

by RittaPokie



Series: Tales From the Dragon Age [12]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 07:12:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13519149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RittaPokie/pseuds/RittaPokie





	1. Beyond Her Years

The others they had traveled with had been wary of Aroes’ young age. They believed that she was too young to be with Wardens, in battle. Seron agreed, to an extent. Most her age were too young to be capable of the things she does. However, those who bothered to observe her would soon find that she was far more than she seemed to be. She was resilient, practical, and wise. Perhaps she wasn’t well educated. Perhaps she didn’t know all the terms for the things she faced. But she was smart. Wise beyond her years. Seron could see that.

\---

Which is why he isn’t bothered by letting her tend the wound he received at Ostagar during their escape. An arrow in his side. It isn’t a terrible serious wound, but the infection that’s setting in is. “Elfroot isn’t going to be enough for this.” Tyril says, looking over her shoulder. “There’s no way it can be enough.”

She hums and her eyes are serious. “I need clean water and a flask.” she says. “Maybe spindleweed. It’s probably abundant with all the death in the land right now.”

Tyril empties the pouch he has of gold into his hand. There’s maybe enough to buy one flask. Maybe. “I’ll be back.” he says, and sighs.

He returns looking slightly worse for wear, but he has the things Aroes requested, but no gold to spare. She looks at him questioningly but he shakes his head. Seron’s stomach twists at how kind these two strangers are being to him. Especially considering the fact that he fought with Tyril since the moment they met.

Aroes crushes the herbs with the bottom of the flask on one of her daggers and tilts them into the flask. She fills it halfway with water and holds it to Seron’s lips. There’s a faint metallic taste to the water, which probably means it’s not at all safe to drink, but that’s no matter to a Grey Warden. “Don’t drink the water.” he mumbles to Aroes when she pulls the flask away. 

She nods, stands, and hands the rest of the herbs she didn’t use to Tyril. “Crush the rest of the elfroot and put it on the wound.”

“Where are you going?” He asks as she walks away, but she doesn’t answer.

\---

She pays little attention to the chanter as she inspects the board. After a while, she tears off six of the posted parchments and stuffs them into her pack. She gets some odd looks but no one questions why an elven teenager has daggers, a bow, and arrows strapped to her. She smirks, those are just the weapons they can see.

A red haired woman in Chantry robes catches her when she reaches the edge of the village. “Excuse me.” the woman says. Aroes shakes her arm from the woman’s grasp. “Aren’t you a bit young to go out there alone?”

“It’s not as if I’m unarmed.” Aroes grits out. “If I did not think I was capable, I would not go.”

“Be careful, then.” the woman says, concern lacing her voice.

“Thanks.” Aroes says, with more sincerity than she feels.

\---

She notices a very large man in a cage at the edge of the village. She stops and stares for a moment and considers asking why he is there, but decides against it. He watches her as she continues onward, but strangely she doesn’t feel threatened. The bandits looting the field may be a threat though. One calls to her when he sees her. “Hey, you! This is our farm!”

“No, it isn’t.” she sighs, “But I honestly don’t care what you’re doing.”

“Well I care what you’re doing.” he says, and stomps towards her in an attempt to intimidate. “You gonna go running to the guards, sweetheart?"

Bile rises in her throat at his tone. “There are no guards in Lothering.”

“Right you are.” He grabs her shirt and pulls her up onto her tiptoes. “So, what are you going to do.”

“You have three seconds before I jab this into your thigh.” she says, poking him with the small knife she had concealed. “One.”

“Oh, please. Pretty thing like you, killing me?” he laughs.

“Two.” her voice shows no sign of distress.

“Alright, fine.” he drops her and she stumbles but lands on her feet. “I’ve no interest in dying today. You’re not worth it.”

“If there were two less in your group, I’d have done it anyway.” she growls. He laughs again, no idea how close he just came to a bloody end.

\---

She storms off, farther into the fields and around a tree where she won’t be visible to the bandits. There, she lets herself be affected. She shakes and gasps for air, sliding down into a sitting position against the tree.

After facing a trio of giant spiders and a very angry water snake, she heads back into the village. The bandits are still where she left them, she notices with disgust. As is the man in the cage. She nods at him when she passes. He doesn’t react but continues to watch her.

She turns in the bounties to the chanter, who seems a bit impressed with her. She still has a few to fill, but she knows she has time. She skips the cart merchant being glared at by a woman in Chantry robes (not the same one as earlier) and who is generally spreading misery, and instead opts to shop at the tavern. She buys a bit of food for her and her companions, as well as an extra piece of bread for the man in the cage. He looked like he hadn’t eaten in a few days. Prisoner or no, he deserves a bit of compassion.

\---

He stares at her blankly when she holds the bread out to him. “They haven’t fed you, I can tell.” she says when he doesn’t accept it.

“They sentenced me to starve or be killed when the darkspawn invade.” he says.

“People are cruel creatures. I don’t care what the chantry sentenced you to.” she replies, reaching through the bars and putting the bread in his hand.

“You did not ask why I am in this cage.” he says, confused. She hopes that he will accept her charity once she is not around to see him eat the bread.

“I don’t care.” she says, “We will all be equal when the darkspawn come, I assure you. I have dealt with the horde that comes once already. Authority is meaningless when monsters outnumber it.”

“You are wise.” he says. She nods and leaves him, going back into the fields.

\---

“It’s nearly dark, where were you?” Tyril asks when she returns. “I was worried.”

“You needn’t worry.” she says. “There was a chanter’s board, so I completed some of the bounties. None of the really dangerous ones.”

“Do you think any more will come from Ostagar?” he asks, solemnly.

“It hasn’t even been a full day yet. There will be others. Perhaps even a mage.” she says, checking over Seron’s wound. “Without one, I’m not sure he’ll survive.”

“Don’t plan his funeral just yet, love.” he says. “It’s not as red and swollen as it was.”

She hums, unsure, and pats the redhead’s face until he wakes up. “I have food for you.” she says. “You need to eat something, get your strength back.”

The Dalish elf grimaces but raises up a bit so he can eat the food she hands to Tyril before she leaves them again. “Aroes, don’t stay out long. The sun is setting.”

\---

Chantries aren’t a place she feels overly safe, but here she is, standing inside of one. Approaching the revered mother. She bows a bit when the mother addresses her. “How can I help you, dear?” the mother asks.

Aroes, suddenly feeling a bit unable to speak, holds out half of what was left in her coinpurse. Almost two sovereigns worth of silver. The mother looks shocked, but takes the coins. Aroes nods, smiling a bit, and leaves. She sighs once she’s back outside. She wishes she had better control over how she responds to things, but she doesn’t. The suffering of all these people affects her. Her heart is still soft after all her own suffering. Though it pains her, she’s glad to have a softness. Glad to not be rough and unfeeling, unflinching, unaffected. She has met people like that before, and wishes never to be like them.


	2. Aroes, the Beginning

"Shipment from the Vints? Not often ye see that." The first mate slurs to a young man in ragged clothes. "Check the crates fer rabbits, wouldn't want any mages comin' lookin' for the scrawny pests."

"Aye, sir." The young man's voice is notably more sober and gentle, "I'll get right on it. You should get back to the deck before the cap'n comes lookin'"

Aroes peeks from her hiding spot behind the crates. Of course she hadn't stayed in them. She didn't come this far just to get caught now. Her mud-caked clothes and hands catch on the splintery wood, but she doesn't care.

The young man shakes the crates and cracks a few of them open to inspect, eyeing the already open one with suspicion. She slinks down lower to the floor, eyes wide and red. Her heart hammers in her chest.

"Once the greatest nation in Thedas," he says to himself, "now trying to besot the south so we can't fight back. How...in character." He sounds amused. "All they bloody ever send is wine. Half never makes it to port and cap'n wonders why. It's yer damn first mate, sir, always pissed out his mind."

She gasps when the ship rocks her into the crate and she sees the man freeze and look directly in her direction. It's dark enough to make her nearly invisible, but she moves behind the crate anyway. "Someone there?" He calls, "Calder s'that you again, messin' with me? I told you stop it, s'not funny."

She presses as close to the crate as she can, the sway of the sea digging the splinters into her skin and clothes. When she dares another peek, she only sees his green-grey eyes. She sucks in a breath and holds it to keep from screaming.

"Well, well, well." He says, squatting to be level with her. "What've we got here."

She makes a noise something like a squeak and backs against the wall. His face softens and he sits down fully on the floor as if he's trying to gain the trust of a stray cat. In a way, he is. She doesn't take the bait.

"C'mon now, I won't hurt you." She shakes her head, holding her arms around herself tightly. "The times he's made me look, there's never actually been an elf." 

She shakes her head again, though she doesn't know what for, exactly.

"You've had a time, I see." He nods. "A lil one too. You've seven, eight summers behind you?"

"Eleven." She croaks, throat sore from dehydration.

He tsks. "Starved, then." He shakes his head solemnly and stands. "I'm Darcey."

"I-" she mumbles, but pauses. She has nothing. Her master called her things like "pet" or "cur" depending on his mood. "Don't..."

"S'alright. I didn't 'til I was a bit younger than you're." He nods, "You'll find it. For now, some water and bread, yeah?"

She nods despite herself. She doesn't trust him, can't afford to, but she's starving and thirsty. "Please." She mumbles out of habit.


End file.
